


Easier To Say It

by gigantic



Series: Pressure Down Low [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Established Relationship, Fake Marriage, Fluff, Los Angeles Kings, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Secret Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 17:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1826323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigantic/pseuds/gigantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vegas is hot, and Tyler's drunk and feeling like forever sounds reasonable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easier To Say It

**Author's Note:**

> Several Kings players have been partying with the Cup in Vegas, including Jones and Toffoli, and then a couple people on Twitter suggested this, so I wrote it. 
> 
> The piggy back ride is something [Send_Reinforcements](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Send_Reinforcements) said. The title is from Tiesto's "Wasted," which I imagine Joner and Toff heard live at Hakkasan recently.
> 
> Any errors are because I'm a failure.

Tyler's taken four different showers and spent plenty hours in MGM pools since coming to Vegas, but he still feels like he's been overheated and at least mildly sweaty the entire time.

Lewie laughs at him when he says that out loud. "Maybe you should take a break from drinking." 

"No, it's like the hottest weekend in a while or something," Schultzy says, shouting to be heard over the music. 

"I don't _mind_ ," Tyler says. He's not really complaining. He's just saying. It's fucking hot. "I need another beer." 

When they're at Hakkasan that night, he even remembers to mix in several glasses of water between drinks from the bar. It doesn't help him feel different. He's still hot, pushing through bodies, and then letting Martin push him against a wall, finding a corner to occupy. Martin presses his face into Tyler's neck, kissing him. He trails a couple along Tyler's throat, across his jaw, and then pulls back to smile. 

"How are you?" he asks. 

"Hot," Tyler says. Martin's arm feels similarly tacky where Tyler's fingers graze skin, but he likes Martin this close.

"Yeah." Martin glances around. Once the immediate area's checked, he leans in, catching Tyler's mouth. He comes in quicker than Tyler's anticipating, making a noise at the odd way their lips glance across one another before they correct it. The sound gets swallowed by the music. He wraps an arm around Martin's neck and holds him there.

When Martin speaks again, he says, "We could go back upstairs."

They fucked before they came down for dinner, Martin sitting on the floor with his back against the wall while Tyler rode him. All but one of the showers he's taken since they rolled into Vegas have been in an effort to wash away sex, and yet the suggestion of it is no less tempting now.

"Mmm," Tyler hums, debating with himself. "They'll think we're lame if we bail this early."

"Probably," Martin says, lifting Tyler's left hand up and slotting their fingers together. Tyler looks at their joined hands, just buzzed enough to find it idly fascinating to watch Martin play with their fingers. He lowers their hands again and taps at the wire from the champagne top that Muzzin corded around Tyler's thumb a while ago.

"What's this?" Martin says.

"Trash."

He sort of forgot about it being there. Martin untwists it and slides it over his own thumb. It's a slightly too small, so he moves it back to Tyler's hand, over the index, and then pulls it off again. He switches to Tyler's middle finger, and then his ring finger, squeezing the cord to make it tight enough to settle.

"What is this?" Tyler says, chuckling. "Jonesy, we all got bonuses for winning. You can't even get me a real ring?"

Martin takes a second to catch on, like he's genuinely just been caught up in the repetitive motions of moving the wire around. He laughs. "Shut up."

"You started it." Tyler shakes his hand around as an indication. "All the married people are boring, anyway."

"Greener and Reggie are here. Married people party, too. We've both hung around with Quickie," Martin says. Tyler tips his head back as he laughs, and Martin ducks close to his ear. "Tyler Jones, devoted raver and husband." 

Tyler tips his head back as he laughs, and Martin's kisses the long line of his neck, right against his Adam's apple. He brings his other arm to Martin's shoulders and kisses him straight on, savoring it and the illusion of privacy for another few seconds.

"I want shots," Tyler says as he moves away. "Then let's leave."

"As you wish." Martin stays close behind him, his hands resting low on Tyler's waist as they go to find more alcohol.

They settle on top shelf tequila for their last hurrah and say brief goodbyes to a few of the guys before worming their way to the door. 

Tyler manages to stumble out into the main hallways first. He turns and holds his arms high in triumph, draping them over Martin again as soon as he makes it, too. Martin bends backward, lifting Tyler off the ground while they hug. 

As he sets him on his feet again, Tyler says, "No, that was awesome. You should carry me."

"Not a chance."

"Can I get on your back?" The look he gets indicates another rejection coming, but Tyler says, "Come on, please? Come on."

Martin's a sucker, really. He's too nice for his own good, and Tyler takes advantage of it in this instance, moving around as Martin drops down to let him hop on his back. He catches Tyler's thighs, and they start to head toward the elevators.

The best part of piggybacking through MGM is the way it lets Tyler press his face against Martin, laughing low and tucking kisses below his ear. 

"Hey. Cut it out," Martin says. Yeah, yeah, they're in plain view now. He knows it's risky. 

"I can't help it. You're cute."

"I'm gonna drop you."

"You wouldn't dare. You love me."

"Hm." The sound comes out like it's supposed to be contrary, but then Martin says, "Yeah, you're right."

Tyler smiles and decides to behave as a reward, letting his arms go limp. Enjoying it. He catches sight of the wire crushed around his ring finger again and flicks at it with his thumb. Staying close to Martin's neck, he says, "Love you, too."

Martin tries to look to the side, but he obviously can't really manage to see Tyler all the way. Tyler sneaks in another kiss, right along the hairline behind Martin's ear. This time Martin doesn't fuss.

"Martin Toffoli," Tyler says. 

"Huh?"

Tyler holds out his hand to show off the makeshift ring. Martin laughs. 

"Yeah, right." 

"My last name's more unique."

"That's not how people decide stuff like that."

"We could hyphenate," Tyler says. It doesn't make a huge difference to him, really, but he does like his last name. He wouldn't want it to disappear altogether.

Martin says, "Yeah, alright. That works for me. Do you want first place?"

"You can have it." He tightens his grip, trying to hug Martin as he rides along. "Tyler Jones-Toffoli." 

"Not bad." 

They'd be the coolest fucking married couple. They've been going to different parades and parties almost nonstop for the past week. They won a Stanley Cup, and now they're celebrating, doing everything anyone throws at them -- from Martin mixing drinks for people in Hermosa to some extreme version of crowd-surfing in inflatable rafts as people in swimsuits shuffle them around in the middle of an EDM concert. They're good at their jobs, and they're good at enjoying victory. They'd kill being married.

Martin lets him slide onto the floor once they reach the elevators. They're lucky enough to get one to themselves, too, and Martin slumps on Tyler, giving him all his weight. 

"You were heavy. I'm exhausted now," he says.

"Oh, my god," Tyler says, only trying to shoulder Martin briefly before letting him slip down, down onto the floor. 

"What kind of shitty spouse are you?" Martin asks from his knees. 

Tyler can't help laughing in his face, but Martin's laughing just as much. Tyler says, "We're not married yet. My record's spotless." 

Martin curls his arms around Tyler's waist, still kneeling. He kisses Tyler's stomach through his t-shirt and tilts his head back to see his face.

"Ty, do you take me to be your lawfully wedded husband?" 

"You can't perform your own wedding." 

"We can do whatever we want this summer." The expression on his face is an even mix of "duh" and self-satisfaction, and, oh, yeah. They earned that.

"You're drunk," Tyler says. He touches Martin's face, dipping to kiss him quickly. Martin's eyes are closed when Tyler stands up straight again, and he nods. 

"I am," Martin says. "You didn't answer the question."

Tyler kneads Martin's shoulder. "Yeah, sure." 

"'Yeah, sure,'" Martin parrots back, mocking. He stands and slides his fingers into Tyler's hair. Tyler fists his hands in the sides of Martin's shirt, relishing the heat of him. 

"What about me?" he asks, knuckling Martin's ribs. 

"Absolutely," Martin says. 

Tyler's more than ready for the kiss this time, opening up for Martin and liking the way he moans into it some. Coming up for breath, he whispers, "You may now fuck the groom."

Martin smirks. "That's not how it goes."

"Well, you already kissed me." 

"Good point," Martin says, going in for another one right before they get to their floor. 

Tyler's phone buzzes as they walk down the long hallway. He fishes it out of his pocket and reads a message from Pears, asking, "Where'd you go? I didn't see you leave."

"Me and Joner went to get married," Tyler writes back.

Pears sends: "You're not funny." 

It makes Tyler chuckle, and Martin looks back to him. "Who's that?"

"Pears," Tyer says. He thumbs out another quick text to let him know they're going back to the room and not to come by unless he wants an eyeful. 

"Gross," Pears writes, and then, "Have fun."

"Always do," Tyler sends back, following Jones into the hotel room.

Inside he lets Martin pull his shirt over his head and drops his cell along with it. The room's cooler than everywhere else, air conditioning set to kick in as soon as the temperature so much as edges towards warm, but it leaves the air feeling a little muggy. Tyler doesn't even care, eager to get naked and grind his hips against Martin's. 

He's pretty sure it's not legal for them get married in Vegas anyway. That's probably a good thing, because Tyler's perfect right now. He feels the right amount of drunk, the right amount of champion, the exact right amount of happy. That's a recipe for impulse even before factoring in how into Martin he is.

"Martin Jones-Toffoli," he says, trying it out, seeing how it feels.

"Yes, Tyler?" Martin says primly and grins. Tyler bursts into laughter again.

It's ridiculous. It's so stupid, and Tyler's so happy. "I'm full of carbonated sunshine," Muzz had said the other day, talking about all the Veuve Clicquot they'd consumed, and that's how Tyler keeps thinking of it, but just in general. Even when he's sober. He's been ecstatic for days. Martin married him on an elevator, and Tyler wants to fuck him so badly. 

"I'm just saying it," he says and climbs onto the bed with Martin, fitting in between his thighs. Martin wraps him up, long arms and legs taking over. Tyler begins his mission to give him as many kisses as he can handle.

Maybe they can have another bottle of champagne sent up when they finish. He wishes he had some more wire to use.


End file.
